


Teach Me How to Say Goodbye

by ScribeofArda



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Angst, Because Erik, But he doesn't disappear either, But he's learning how to be, Charles Being Concerned, Charles has Opinions about Erik, Charles keeps all his letters, Erik doesn't stay, Erik has Opinions about coffee, Erik is just generally not okay, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, I feel like I could make a literary reference there but I'm not smart enough, M/M, Post-X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), Pre-Slash, Travelling the world trying not to kill anyone, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9443009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeofArda/pseuds/ScribeofArda
Summary: "I can’t stay. I know what will happen if I do, and I don’t know if I can survive that right now."After the events in Cairo, Erik returns with Charles and the newly formed X-Men. But he can't stay, and once the house is rebuilt Charles watches him walk away once again. Only this time, he doesn't disappear.Charles keeps every postcard and letter that Erik sends back from around the world. They're a poor substitute for the man himself, but they'll have to do until Erik comes back and they can try to have that life together they've both secretly wondered about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik comes back with Charles and the X-Men, and is adrift amongst people who a day ago, saw him as an enemy. Between the challenge of rebuilding the house and recovering himself from the events in Cairo, Charles still can't help but worry about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know what prompted me to write this- this is the first story I've written in this fandom, and in any fandom other than my main. It's been ages since I've watched the films, so if I get the characters slightly wrong, or the continuity is off, it's because I can't quite remember what's canon and what I read in a fic anymore.
> 
> Trigger warnings for Erik's usual baggage, though there's nothing explicit. Rating is for swearing, I suppose, but I never quite know how to rate stories. Also yes, I'm very unimaginative when it comes to titles- it's from Hamilton (which I got tickets to see in the West End next year, so it's currently stuck in my head all the time at the moment!)

It wasn't until they neared the mansion that Charles remembered just what had happened to it. He stared out the window of the jet, waiting to see the crumbled remains of everything he had spent so long building.

Erik sat next to him on the small jet he'd pulled from Cairo's airport. He had been there for the entire journey home, helmet and armour discarded at his feet. A quick check with Jean showed that when Charles had been unconscious, for most of the journey home, Erik has barely let anyone else approach him. He had carried Charles onto the plane himself, and his cloak was still folded up and placed behind Charles' head.

"We'll rebuild it, professor," Jean said quietly. She felt tired, when Charles brushed her mind, but there was a calm confidence she now carried that hadn't been there before. Charles was pleased for her.

Erik stirred, leaning forwards to look out the window. The moment the ruins of the mansion came into view the plane shuddered, the metal audibly creaking, and Charles winced at the sudden flares of fear and panic from the minds nearby. After everything, his control was not nearly as refined as it normally would.

The plane shuddered again, and Charles saw Hank shift uneasily in the pilot's seat. _Erik, let go of the plane_ he said into Erik's mind.

Erik shifted, and the plane righted itself. _How can you be so calm?_ he asked back to Charles. Charles could barely block out the storm of anger and rage and grief that was hurtling through Erik, tired as he was.

 _Anger will get me nowhere after all that's happened_ , Charles replied. _I've got others to think about. Besides, I'm too tired to be angry at the moment._

Worry pulsed from the maelstrom that was Erik's mind, but he didn't say anything more.

They landed on the lawn and the students staggered from the jet in various states of exhaustion. Raven paused next to Charles, but Erik glared at her and moved to help Charles himself.

 _You could just build me a wheelchair_ , Charles thought at Erik as he picked him up. _Yours powers are far more impressive than I've ever known. I'm sure you wouldn't have much trouble with it_.

"Stay out of my head, Charles," Erik grumbled, stepping carefully out of the jet and wincing in the sunlight. "You don't want to be in there."

Charles just shook his head, and watched the students as Erik set him down gently on the ground, resting against a tree. He could sense the turmoil in Erik's mind, could tell that Erik was in a daze, and barely holding himself together even if he didn't realise it, so he didn't push.

The students who had remained behind flooded around him, all clamouring to make sure he was okay, to find out what had happened. He could sense more than a few of them, those too young to know much about the events of years ago, looking curiously at Erik and Ororo, wondering who they were and what they were doing here. He spent a long time reassuring them and answering their questions before Raven came over and dragged them all away. He didn't admit it, but he was grateful for the quiet that followed.

Erik was standing at the edge of the camp, hands outstretched, and in front of him tents were unfolding and erecting themselves in neat, ordered lines. Jean was standing across from him on the other side of the lawn, and though her tents were nowhere near as organised as Erik's, between them they had a sizeable encampment erected in no time. Almost as soon as it was done Raven bullied Charles into the largest tent, declaring that he had to sleep before he made himself collapse. He could hear the worry in her voice, let alone flashing from her mind, along with cracked memories of the past few days, so he didn’t put up any resistance.

Someone had found blankets and cushions, and Charles rather suspected that he had more than his fair share. It was yet another thing that he would have to worry over tomorrow: with the combined powers of Erik and Jean, rebuilding a house should not be so difficult, but they could not make beds materialise out of thin air.

Erik, in a change from the plane, kept his distance from Charles. Perhaps it was the amount of people around them, or perhaps he had just been acting on instinct after Cairo, and was now more aware of what he was doing. Charles didn’t quite know, and though he could guess at the anger and shame coursing through Erik, he wouldn’t know unless he looked. Which he was not going to do without permission.

But in the morning, when Charles woke up, there was a metal wheelchair sitting outside his tent. There was even cushioning on the seat, and it looked suspiciously like Magneto’s cloak.

 

* * *

 

“Charles, I think you’re missing the point here.”

To someone who didn’t know her, Raven sounded angry. To Erik, lurking on the fringes of this conversation, she just sounded tired.

There was so much that needed doing. Erik could manipulate metal, and Jean everything else, but neither of them had any idea how to actually build a house, and they didn’t have any materials yet anyway. As usual, Charles’ bottomless bank accounts could take care of it, but it was still a logistical nightmare.

Erik didn’t know whether to laugh or choke back a sob at that. A day ago, he’d been trying to tear the world apart. Now he was listening to conversations about furniture.

He’d once been in a plane that had been hit by fire and lost one of the engines, and started to free-fall in the seconds before he could wrap his powers around it. He felt like that now, only this time there was nothing to could reach out to, no plane that he could control.

He didn’t know what to do anymore.

 _Always so dramatic, Erik,_ Charles said in his mind, sending a cool soothing wave his way. Erik snarled back, turning and stalking away.

 _That doesn’t work very well with me, you know,_ Charles thought, sounding mildly amused. _We do need you to help rebuild, Erik. There are blueprints to the house that Moira is getting, and Jean is going to use mine and Raven’s memories as well. She’ll direct most of it, but she’ll need you to actually lift all the metal. Oh, and if you could do the plumbing and electrics, that’d be much appreciated. You probably have more experience with that sort of thing. Hank will help, where he can._

“I’m sure he will,” Erik muttered as he stalked through the lawns of the house. He didn’t need to be a telepath to know that Hank did not trust him at all, along with many of the students who were old enough to know who Magneto was. He didn’t blame them. He hardly trusted himself at the moment.

He’d done a lot of bad things over the years, and he didn’t know what he regretted anymore. If he thought about it too much, he thought he might lose his mind to it all.

 _You’re not going to lose your mind, Erik,_ Charles thought. In Erik’s head, he sounded slightly irritated. _You’re being dramatic again._

“You don’t know anything,” Erik snarled back. “And stay out of my head.”

 _I will if you come back to the rest of us,_ Charles replied coolly. _There’s a lot of work that needs doing, and I can’t spend all my time doing this with you whenever you decide you don’t want to interact with anyone else._

Erik’s feet stuttered to a stop. He was in amongst the trees now, and turning back he couldn’t see the tents set up on the lawn. He could feel the metal support struts, though, along with the metal of Charles’ wheelchair and various things in peoples’ pockets. Charles was with what felt like Hank, judging by the stethoscope he could feel, and a few more people.

 _Erik, come back over here,_ Charles thought. He paused, and then added: _they’ll always be scared of you if you don’t give them a reason not to be._

“Stay out of my head.”

 _It’s a little hard when you’re broadcasting as loudly as you are right now,_ Charles replied. _Besides, my control is iffy for the moment. I think you’re giving Jean a bit of a headache, by the way._

“I don’t care,” Erik muttered, though even he knew that it was a lie.

There was a surprising wave of something close to annoyance from Charles, and Erik blinked. “You’re angry.”

 _You tried to destroy the world, Erik,_ Charles said in reply. _I don’t quite understand why you did it, and even though you helped us in the end, it’s going to take some time for me to come to terms with that._ His presence suddenly faded from Erik’s mind and Erik automatically reached out, feeling for the metal of Charles’ chair that he knew so well. It was in the same place as before, and Erik forced himself to relax.

 _Sorry, I need to take care of some things_ , Charles said into his mind abruptly. _Do try and come back to civilization before lunchtime._ His presence faded once more, but this time it stayed gone. Erik sank down to the grass, and leant back against one of the trees. He levitated the change in his pocket until it rose out in front of him, spinning around his fingers, and he made them into the shape of a rose.

 

* * *

 

He felt the metal of her bangles and rings long before he heard her footsteps on the grass. For a moment he considered warning her away, tightening the bangles around her wrist, but she was one of the few people who knew what he could do, and didn’t act like they were scared of him.

Charles didn’t count. Charles, with his endless optimism and hope, and the long history between the two of them, would never count.

“I like it here,” was the first thing she said as she sat down next to him. “It’s quiet.”

Erik didn’t reply. Ororo didn’t look over at him, but instead her gaze settled on the ground as she plucked at the blades of grass.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve done,” she said softly. “What I was a part of. What I can do to atone.”

Erik snorted. He could tell her that she didn’t need to atone, but that would be a lie. He could tell her that humanity didn’t matter, that as mutants they were above them, but he wasn’t quite sure if that would be the truth as well.

“You want to stay?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“I’d like to teach, eventually,” Ororo replied. “If the Professor will have me.”

“He will,” Erik assured her. “Charles wouldn’t turn you away.”

“Even after all I’ve done?”

He could hear the hesitation in her voice, the unspoken worry that she would be turned away after all she had taken part in. He shook his head. “What you have done is so very little compared to my past,” he said to her. “If Charles has not gone into my head and made me walk straight out of here, then he will undoubtedly give you a place here. You’ll be safe here.”

“And you?” Erik arched a brow, but Ororo met his gaze. “Will you stay?”

“I don’t believe anyone wants me to,” Erik pointed out. “I’m a terrorist and a fugitive. It’s not someone you really want around a school.”

“Somehow, I don’t think any of their opinions matter to you,” Ororo said steadily. “And of the one opinion that does matter- well, you said it yourself. If he hasn’t made you walk out of here already, I doubt he will now.”

Erik levelled her with a glare. She may be one of the only people to have been beside him through most of the recent events, and the only other one of the four recruited by En Sabah Nur to be on these grounds right now, but that didn’t mean he owed her anything.

“I haven’t told anyone what happened to your wife and daughter.”

Erik startled, instinctively reaching for the metal around him. Despite her bangles shaking on one wrist, Ororo fixed him with a steady look. “I won’t tell them,” she said. “I thought you might like to know that.”

Erik didn’t know what he would like to know. Magda and Nina were an open wound, one that he could feel festering but wasn’t brave enough to try and drain for fear of the pain. The damage he had done, that was another wound, one that had been dug open again and again.

“I’m not the one you should be talking to about atonement,” Erik said eventually. “Find someone else.”

“Fine,” Ororo said. “But only if you come and get some lunch. There’s a buffet on the front lawn.”

Erik sighed, but he was feeling hungry, and he didn’t have to talk to anyone to get lunch. He supposed that not many people would want to talk to him, and Charles was easy to avoid when people needing things from him were constantly distracting him. He got to his feet, and followed Ororo across the grass.

Later, when he had retreated to the shade of a tree and was studying the blueprints for the mansion that someone had found- he was drifting, and studying blueprints was just enough to distract him from the pulse of _Magda Nina all those deaths what have you done_ \- he saw Ororo talking to Peter. The kid intrigued him, he admitted, but only because he’d caught him staring after him a few times now, and not looking afraid.

“I’m ashamed of it,” he heard Ororo say. “I thought I was- I thought there was something inside of me that was… I don’t know, something good. Yes, I pickpocketed and I stole from people, but I didn’t think I was _evil_.”

“I think I’m the wrong person to be having this crisis with,” Peter replied. “I mean, you can talk to me if you want, but I’m not a professor- hey, why don’t you talk to the Professor about this? He’s way more qualified than I could ever be. I bet he’s talked people through hundreds of crisises- is it crisises? Or crises? Language can be so confusing sometimes. That’s why I never tried to learn another one. This one is bad enough, thanks.”

“It’s crises,” Ororo replied.

“Well, that’s just stupid,” Peter said. Erik could feel the aluminium of his crutch as he stabbed it into the ground, as if to emphasise his point. “Anyway, people way more powerful and wiser than you have sided with the wrong people because they were scared or manipulated or just plain got it wrong. It’s, like, the basis of half the comic books out there. Well, maybe not that many. But it happens more than you’d think in them. Anyway, my point is that you screwed up. Maybe on a more epic scale than most of us, though you’d be surprised how disappointed my mum can get with the amount of shoplifting I’ve done. Oh, and I did break Magneto out of the Pentagon a while back.”

“Do you always talk this fast?” Ororo asked, sounding amused. Erik could feel the metal of Peter’s goggles bob up and down with his nod.

“I can’t run right now, so it’s all I’ve got,” he replied. “Believe me, I’m slowing it down for you. But my point is that we’ve all screwed up. The question is, what will you do about it now?”

They wandered off out of Erik’s hearing, though he tracked their progress for a few more minutes. He supposed that was indeed the question. But he had no idea what the answer could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Erik just build Charles a wheelchair from scratch, possibly staying up all night pulling scrap metal from wherever he could find it, so that Charles could get around? (Of course he did)
> 
> So from what I can remember from the film, Erik doesn't ever really tell anyone exactly what happened to his family- it's on the news, but he never turns around and explains it all to anyone. If I'm wrong, it's a bit late, because I'd have to rewrite this story and I'm mildly lazy so don't want to do that. I'll just change the tags to say canon divergence, but do let me know if I'm completely wrong!
> 
> There'll be fairly regular updates, about twice a week. Comments and kudos always make my day, so go ahead!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles finds out just what happened to Erik and his family.  
> Plenty of angst and crying, and maybe some forgiveness in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite angsty, I think? I don't know, as the one writing it I'm a terrible judge of how bad it gets. But tw for what happened to Erik's wife and daughter- it's not described in gory detail or anything, but the gist is there, and it's seen through Erik's mind so he's not the most rational of people about it.

In the dark, the ruins of the house could barely be seen. Charles sighed, turning away from it and looking towards the tents on the lawn. His wheelchair moved with barely a creak across the grass. It really was marvellously made, for being put together out of scrap metal. Charles wondered if, given time, Erik could add electrics as well.

He shook his head. Erik wouldn’t want to add electrics. A part of Charles was surprised that Erik was still here, hadn’t left the moment the plane had touched down, but then he suspected that Erik didn’t know where else to go. The few times that Charles had skimmed his mind, just assuring himself that Erik was indeed there, he had been pushed back by a churning mess of grief and anger and shame. The man himself had spent today wandering as if in a daze, and had barely talked to anyone.

Charles wondered what had precisely happened to his family. What had been bad enough to make him side with a mutant intent on destroying the world. All he knew was what he had seen on the news, and the little he had gleaned from Erik’s mind when he was shouting too loudly to be ignored.

Charles huffed, displeased with himself. Erik had helped them in the end, after all. Hopefully this time he’d actually realised his mistakes. Maybe he would want to stay, after all this.

That was getting too far ahead of himself, Charles thought. He wheeled across the grass, heading towards the edge of the trees. If he tried, he knew sleep would elude him easily. Awake, it was much easier to wrestle back control of his telepathy after En Sabah Nur.

Even then, it was not easy. He felt someone wake briefly from a dream, contentment wrapping around them. But in the next moment contentment turned to panic, and Charles jolted back at the spike of fear and pain that was flung out across the grounds.

He focused slightly, and then grimaced as he recognised the familiar shapes of the mind broadcasting so loudly. There was a rustle from one of the tents, and then Charles watched from the shadows as a tall figure scrambled from his tent and staggered away, bleeding pain and grief with every step.

 

* * *

 

Erik managed to make it into the trees before his legs couldn’t hold him up any longer, and he slumped down on the grass. His hands clenched into fists and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the remnants of the dream: waking up next to Magda, with Nina crawling up between them to try and get them out of bed.

There was a familiar tug on his powers, and then he recognised the metal slowly approaching him. He contemplated running for a moment, or bending one of the wheels so Charles couldn’t come any closer, but that would just make more problems. He sat there, tracking Charles as he got closer and closer until he appeared out of the shadows of the trees and came over.

"Erik."

He paused, slowly raising his head to meet Charles' steady gaze. "Apologies," he said. He was surprised at how steady his voice stayed. "I didn't realise you were around here. I'll give you some space."

"Erik, you were practically screaming," Charles said, tapping his temple. He wheeled closer, and reached out for Erik seemingly without thinking of it. Erik didn't flinch, but he didn't need to with Charles, who slowly pulled his hand away.

"What is troubling you so much?" asked Charles softly. "What can I do to help?"

Erik just shook his head. "Nothing at all," he replied. "I'll leave you to your peace." He got up, but only made it a few paces across the grass towards the tents before the chair moved behind him.

"Erik, wait."

Charles wheeled around him, putting himself between Erik and the tents. It was pointless, given the vast expanse of the lawns around them, but somehow it stopped Erik in his tracks. "I know you lost a family, but I don’t really know what happened to you," Charles said. "And you don't have to talk. But you are safe here, if you decide you want to. And I'm always here."

Erik stayed silent for a moment, meeting Charles' steady gaze with one that felt cracked and raw. He stretched out his powers, folding the coins in his pocket into little cubes and back again.

"I...I can't," he said eventually.

"You don't have to," Charles said soothingly. "Not right now."

"No, you misunderstand," Erik said. "I can't. I can't form the words. I don't know how."

All of that rage, all the anger that had been burning within him from the moment Shaw pulled that trigger, it was useless in the face of Charles' voice, the face that he pulled when he was worried but didn't want to show it so that he didn't force a decision. It had guttered and sunk as the grief rose up to take its place.

He realised with a heartwrenching jolt that he didn't know quite how long it had been since they'd died. Somewhere amongst everything he'd lost count of the days, consumed as he was by rage and misplaced vengeance. The thought almost made him stagger, and he sat heavily back on the ground.

"Erik?" Charles asked, slowly approaching him as one would a wounded animal. It almost made Erik want to laugh, the concern with which Charles treated him. He had helped to nearly bring about the apocalypse, after all. He was hunted by most of the intelligence agencies around the world for everything he had done, all the people he'd killed and the things he'd destroyed. And there was Charles, sitting across from him with a slight crease in his brow and worried eyes, wanting to reach out but not knowing quite how to help without chasing him away.

"They're dead," he blurted out suddenly. "They died."

"Who did?" Charles asked carefully.

"My- they were-" The words stuck in Erik's throat, aching in his chest as he struggled to push them out. His eyes stung, the beginnings of tears blurring his gaze.

"I can't," he said despairingly. " _Mein Gott_ , I can't." He suddenly looked up at Charles, a desperate look on his face.

"Look," he said, gesturing at his own head. "Look inside. I can't say it. You have to look for yourself."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Charles said warily. "Erik, I... I don't want to overstep." He didn't say what he was thinking, that they'd only been on the same side for a day or so, and that he didn't know what to expect or what was going to happen anymore.

"Please, Charles," Erik said. He sounded desperate. "I know-" He cut himself off, and swallowed heavily. "Please."

"Only what you want to show me," Charles said, raising his fingers to his temple reluctantly. Erik just nodded, and Charles closed his eyes, reaching out and feeling the familiar shapes of Erik's mind, sharp edges and geometric faces suddenly dulled and pitted by grief and despair.

He readied himself, and reached into Erik's mind. Almost instantly he was assaulted by memories, seemingly torn from deep with Erik: a woman, who was then a wife, who was then a mother. Images of family, happy except for the overwhelming tide of grief that Erik washed over them. A factory, and _no thought just instinct, he didn't need to die when he could stop it_ and then anger, so very familiar, dread and memories within the memories, of a stadium lifted from the ground and a life on the run, and all he had endured to get to that point, starving people with yellow stars pinned to their chests. Charles trembled under the onslaught as it moved from dread to horror and pain and _no this can't be happening they can't be dead, Magda please our girl needs you Nina liebling wake up please get up please, what have they done, what have they taken from me, how dare they, what did Magda ever do to them, how could they take my liebling from me_ and a litany of _pain anger grief devastation where do I go now, what do I do, how can I go on_.

Charles pulled back when the memories reached the point that he entered them and a fresh wave of pain rocked through Erik. Slowly, Erik looked up through the tears.

He had been expecting a number of reactions, from sympathy to pity to Charles' patented look that made you want to spill all your secrets and tell him every vulnerable part of you. What he hadn't been expecting was a clenched jaw and tightly pressed lips, a smouldering look in red-rimmed eyes.

Charles was _angry_. Not just angry, but furious, if Erik could read his expression right.

"You're angry," he said warily. "Why?"

"Why?" burst out Charles, flailing a hand in the air. "Erik, you're a good man! You're a good person, and I can't help it if I want to hate the universe for all the horrible things it has done to you that you've never deserved!”

Erik blinked. What.

"You were happy!" Charles exclaimed. "You had a wife! A daughter! You had a family and then it was taken from you, used to manipulate you into what you did. You never deserved any of that pain, Erik.”

Erik blinked again, his eyes stinging. "Yes," he said softly. "I did have them. I buried them."

In a second Charles softened. "Oh Erik," he said. "I am so very sorry." He shifted closer, as close as he could get the chair to him. "Thank you for letting me see them."

"Magda," Erik said brokenly. "And Nina. I had a family.” His voice cracked on the last word and then he sobbed, the grief tearing through his chest. Charles reached out a hand and this time Erik leant into it, sobbing as the grief finally caught up with him and he mourned.

He hadn’t cried like this for a very long time, hadn’t let the anger ebb away enough for the grief to fully take its place. But he did now, tears spilling down his cheeks and ugly sobs forcing their way past his lips as he howled in anguish for his wife and daughter, for his parents in the camps, for everyone who had died or been hurt because of him. Through it all Charles just sat there, letting Erik slump against his legs and stain his trousers with tears, a firm hand resting on Erik’s back.

“I am so very sorry, Erik,” he said again. “I know that doesn’t mean much against all that you’ve lost, but I am. And I’m sorry for being angry, earlier. You didn’t need that.”

“Always so considerate, Charles,” Erik muttered, acerbic even as his breath hitched and another sob fell from his lips. “How do you not hate me?”

“I have, at times,” Charles admitted. “But it never lasted.”

Erik didn’t say anything, but grief and confusion bled from his mind. “Erik, for God’s sake,” Charles protested. “You’re not a monster! You’re just a man who has had some terrible things happen to him, and who has made some bad choices. You deserve whatever damn redemption you think you’re too far gone for.”

Erik blinked. Charles caught the corner of a memory, one amongst many all coloured in grief and shame and regret: a beach in Cuba, and blood on the sand. “Dammit, Erik,” he sighed. “Don’t you get it? I forgive you!”

“What?” Erik asked, his voice rasping in his throat.

“I forgive you,” Charles repeated. “For every single way you have hurt me. I can’t say the same for anyone else, and you have to earn that from them for yourself, but you have it from me. You have my forgiveness, Erik.”

Erik stared at him. Ever so slowly, the storm of his mind calmed and grew quiet. _You can speak now, you know_ , Charles said directly into his mind. The slightest hint of a smile curled the corner of Erik’s lips.

_I know that, you idiot,_ he responded, but there was a certain fondness to his thoughts. He pushed himself up from his knees onto his feet, brushing off his trousers. _I should get some sleep,_ he thought to Charles. _We’ve got the house to start tomorrow._

_Of course_ , Charles replied, even though the tears were still falling slowly from Erik’s eyes, and his hands were not wholly steady. If Erik didn’t want to confront this yet, then he wouldn’t force him. _Do you want some help with sleeping?_ He waved one hand by his temple, and Erik shook his head.

_Definitely not_ , he replied. “Goodnight, Charles,” he said aloud.

“Goodnight, Erik,” Charles said softly. He watched Erik walk away in a direction that was definitely not towards his tent, and then slowly began to wheel himself towards his own. He had only moved a few feet before there was a gentle nudge of his chair, and then it was picked up and skimmed over the grass until he was placed gently down outside his tent.

_Charles?_ The thought was hesitant, tinged with grief and weariness. Charles looked back in the direction that Erik had gone.

_Yes?_ he asked back, a faint curl of worry shifting in his throat as he wondered if Erik was saying goodbye.

_I’m not leaving just yet,_ Erik replied, a hint of amusement in his thoughts. It soon disappeared as he sobered. _I wanted- what I meant- Charles…_

_Yes?”_ Charles asked again.

_Thank you_ , Erik said softly.

_Oh,_ thought Charles. _You’re welcome. Good night, Erik._

He rather thought he could feel the answering smile on Erik’s lips, and he stayed awake until the familiar shape of Erik’s mind fell quiet into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as this is the first time I've written in this fandom, this scene was really difficult to write. Apologies if things seem OOC. I've done my best.  
> Comments and kudos will make my day!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the house gets rebuilt, and Erik has Opinions about coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the whole coffee thing in this chapter comes from my dad- he has very particular views about how coffee should be drunk (drunken, drank? I write, I should know this).
> 
> Anyway, so I don't drink coffee much anyway, but if I were, I can't drink a latte or any coffee with milk in it after about 11am when at home. On top of that, there is definitely no instant coffee allowed in the house. My mum introduced me to Peet's coffee- we're British, but have friends in the US and they occasionally send over boxes of coffee for her because you can't buy it here. That's how intense my parents are about coffee.
> 
> Peter turns up in this chapter- I have plans for the whole father/son relationship, but that will be in a later story. Feel free to ask if you want to know basics, though- the whole thing isn't quite planned in my head yet, but I have the bare bones of it down! Also, even with research I couldn't work out if the word pun was commonly used in the 1980s, so if anyone knows, that would be very helpful.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are very welcome.

“Here, I got you something to eat.”

Charles took the bagel that Raven offered him with a sigh of relief. After having Jean rifle through his memories, at his permission of course, for details of the house had left him with a mild headache, and he was hungry now. Raven seemed to feel the same, because she sunk down to the grass at Charles’ feet and bit into her own bagel with gusto.

The lawn was a bustle of activity, now that more supplies and equipment had arrived and they could get on with whatever needed doing. Charles was tempted to try and teach some of the students, but he doubted they would pay any attention to him at all, not when they were still constantly badgering Jean and Scott and the others for stories of what happened.

Charles had noticed the whispers when they thought he couldn’t hear them, amongst the younger students who had remained. They weren’t just directed at him; many were about Erik, or Ororo. Charles hoped Erik didn’t notice, or didn’t care if he did.

But after last night, something had changed in Erik. It was too much to hope that one outpouring of grief would fix everything, but Charles no longer had a headache from Erik’s thoughts bleeding from his mind, and from Jean’s relaxed expression, he suspected hers had gone as well.

Erik, who was currently sitting and looking over the blueprints with Jean, glanced up and met Charles’ gaze. A faint smile slipped across his lips. _Building a house is a lot more complicated than I think you think it is_ , he thought at Charles. _I’m no plumber._

 _I’m sure you’ll do a great job,_ Charles replied. _I’ve amassed plenty of information from various tradespeople and handed it onto Jean. She’ll direct you to where you need to put things._

 _So you just want me for my muscles,_ Erik thought with a grin. Charles nearly laughed out loud, only just remembering that this was a telepathic conversation, and he would get strange looks if he suddenly laughed.

 _About last night_ , Erik thought suddenly, the grin sliding from his face. _Charles…I-_

 _You’re allowed to feel, Erik,_ Charles said, meeting his gaze evenly. _You’re allowed to grieve._

 _I know,_ Erik replied. _But- only Ororo knows what actually happened beyond vague phrases and whatever ended up on the news, and only because she was there. I haven’t told anyone else. It’s not exactly something I want to throw in people’s faces._

 _It might help them understand,_ Charles said. _Why you did what you did._

Shame coloured Erik’s thoughts. _I don’t want to give them any excuses._

 _An excuse and a reason are two different things, my friend,_ Charles thought. _But I will respect that it is not my story to share._

 _Thank you, Charles_ , Erik replied. His lips curled in a faint smile, and he finally broke eye contact with Charles to look back at the blueprints in his lap.

A few hours later, Jean declared that they were ready, and Erik got to his feet, dusting his jeans off. Hank had gone into town and bought a large selection of clothes for everyone. Charles thought it unfair that Erik could pick out the most random selection and still look effortlessly handsome, in a rough rugged way.

Erik raised his hands, and then lifted himself up into the air. Jean outstretched her hands, and the stacks of material in front of them began to shake and rise into the air. The students gathered round, and Charles could feel their awe and excitement as between them, Jean and Erik rebuilt the mansion.

 

* * *

 

When Erik’s feet finally touched the ground, he nearly stumbled in his weariness. Holding onto that fine a control, controlling copper wires and nails and everything in between took energy, and he hadn’t had much to begin with. Jean looked tired as well, and Scott came up beside her, gently grasping her elbow to lead her away to the tents. The house was not yet finished; the finer details inside would have to wait until tomorrow.

 _Erik_ , Jean said a little loudly into his mind just as she turned away. Erik winced, and a wave of apology flickered from her. _Sorry, my control isn’t the best, and I’m not a very good telepath_ , she said. _But I wanted to say thank you._

Erik blinked. Beyond what they had needed to discuss for the house, he hadn’t talked to her. _You’re…welcome?_ he replied hesitantly.

 _If you don’t mind me saying, you’re quieter today,_ Jean said softly. _I couldn’t help but notice, last night. I didn’t pry,_ she added quickly. _I would never do that. I knew the bare facts from the news. Quite a few of us do. But being a telepath is a lot more about blocking thoughts out than letting them in, and you were quite loud, and I do know a lot more now. Anyway, I’m glad that you’re…_

 _What,_ Erik snarled back. _Happy?_

 _A little better than you were yesterday,_ Jean replied. Something in the steadiness of her thoughts impressed him. _I couldn’t help but see what happened to them. I’m sorry._

Erik just stared at her, waiting for the pain that would send him to his knees. It came; one night was not enough time to grieve, there would never be enough time to grieve, but he remained standing. A quiet flash of sympathy that wasn’t his echoed through his mind, but there was no pity, and that made it barely manageable to stomach. Jean smiled slightly. _I think we’ll finish the house tomorrow, if we put our minds to it._ She laughed quietly in Erik’s head. _That wasn’t intended as a joke._

She walked away with her friends, and Erik’s gaze turned back to the house. He could feel the pull of every piece of metal he’d put in place, the very bones of the building. He liked that. He liked having a piece of himself in that house.

Raven was watching him from a little way away. He got the sense that she, along with many others, was struggling to come to terms with the fact that he was here, after all he had done.

If he was honest with himself, so was he.

“You like her.”

It was Raven who had spoken, walking up next to him whilst he was distracted by his own thoughts. “As much as it’s possible for you to like anyone at all, I suppose. You tolerate her, is probably a better description.”

She looked like she was squaring up for a fight, daring him to say something so that she could justify what she wanted to think. But he was too tired.

“She’s the only person here who I know could, and would, stop me if I started something I couldn’t stop,” he replied easily. After all these years, his own mortality was almost a comforting thought. The fact that someone could stop him from making the same mistakes he had made, over and over, and end it all was just as reassuring.

“There’s Charles,” Raven said, though she suddenly sounded unsure.

Erik shook his head. “Charles could, but he wouldn’t,” was all he said.

“Oh, Erik.” Raven just looked pitying now, like she knew something Erik didn’t but wanted him to figure it out for himself. “There’s more than one way for Charles to stop you.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the next two days, the house was fully complete. It was bare inside, for the most part, but there were beds enough for the students, and Jean took down the tents outside in a few minutes.

Erik wandered through the house, fingertips trailing along the walls as he felt the metal humming beneath his fingers, the fields greeting him like an old friend. He twitched a few wires that were slightly tangled, adjusted some of the pipes that might threaten to leak in a few years.

Now that he was no longer spending hours of the day manipulating all kinds of metal, there was little to distract him from his own thoughts. He made his way into the kitchen, tugging gently at the cutlery sitting in draws. He’d spent hours, yesterday, reshaping and cleaning up all the cutlery he had managed to pull from the burnt shell of the house before they’d started. He knew that Charles could get a little sentimental about odd things like that.

It was late at night, or possibly early in the morning, and Erik didn’t think it would be possible for him to get any more sleep. Already he felt like a loose end, here in this house where everyone else knew their place, knew they were accepted wholeheartedly. Even Ororo had taken to it all easily. And the thought that he’d had, probably as soon as his feet touched the grass of Charles’ lawn, it grew and twisted in his mind.

He flicked open one of the cupboards with a wave of his hand and filled up the kettle as he pulled out a mug. He found himself missing proper coffee; he’d always found that the coffees across South America were the best he’d ever had, though he’d settle for Peets if they had any. Unfortunately, whoever had gone out and bought groceries was a complete idiot, because all they had was Nescafe instant coffee.

Erik gritted his teeth, and opened the jar even though all his instincts rebelled at it. This wasn’t proper coffee. Anyone who said otherwise was lying, and deserved to be shot.

“Coffee already? Man, you really don’t have much of a survival instinct for the modern world.”

Erik slowly put down the knife that he had pulled out from the draw. “Do you have any sense of self-preservation?” he asked, turning to face Peter. The kid was leaning against the doorway, but as Erik waited for an answer he limped forwards and pulled up a chair. He spent a few seconds then trying to pull over another chair without getting up. Erik rolled his eyes, and waved his hand. A chair skidded over the flagstones and slotted itself under Peter’s cast.

“Thanks,” Peter said. “And I suppose that I don’t have much self-preservation, really, otherwise I’d still be in my mom’s basement and not here, having fought a blue alien.”

“He wasn’t an alien,” Erik felt compelled to point out as he waited for the kettle to boil.

“He sure looked like one,” Peter said back quickly, a grin on his face. “Come on, even you must have read comics as a kid. He was right out of the pages of them.”

“No,” Erik replied coolly. “I didn’t. I was too busy trying not to be killed.”

“Man, your life is just one series of crap events, isn’t it?” Peter asked. “Is that instant coffee?”

Erik blinked. Peter was craning his neck, trying to look around Erik to see what was on the counter. Erik shifted out of the way, and immediately Peter pulled a face. “Gross, you’re drinking instant coffee,” he complained. “That’s disgusting. It tastes like something has died in your mouth.”

“It’s all there is,” Erik muttered, checking the kettle. It still hadn’t boiled. What was it with Charles and old appliances? “Believe me, I wouldn’t be drinking it if I had a choice.”

“If I didn’t have this stupid lump of plaster on, I’d run over to California and get us some Peets,” Peter said cheerfully. “That’s decent coffee.”

“It’s alright,” Erik conceded. “But it’s nothing compared to South American coffee. The best coffee I ever had was in Panama, I think.”

“Technically that’s Central America,” Peter pointed out. “But I’ll allow it. I’ve only had Peets a few times, but it was worth all the hassle it took to get it.” He looked at the kettle, which still hadn’t boiled. “Can’t you just boil it with your- you know, your powers?” he asked. “Can you heat up metal?”

Erik eyed the kettle. It was mildly tempting to just crush the thing and force Charles to get a new, better one, but then he’d have no coffee and he wouldn’t be able to stay awake and avoid yet more nightmares. He didn’t wander around the house in the middle of the night for fun.

He outstretched a hand, and focused on the atoms in the metal, willing the frequency of vibrations to increase. Within twenty seconds the water was boiling away, and he got his coffee.

“I’ll put better coffee on the next shopping list,” Peter said. “Or we can wait until I get my cast off, and then I’ll just run to the nearest Peets store. Or even to Panama. It would only take me a day or so.”

Erik shook his head. “Don’t bother, unless you want it for yourself,” he muttered over the rim of his mug.

Peter’s face, for some reason, fell. “You’re not staying?” he asked, and Erik didn’t think he was imagining the disappointment in his voice. He wondered why that was; sure, the kid had broken him out of the Pentagon, but he hadn’t thought he’d liked him at all, as an actual person.

“I can’t,” he replied. “Not at the moment.”

“Will you come back at all?” Peter asked, unusually subdued. Granted, Erik didn’t know much about the kid, but normally he seemed to barely be able to sit still, even with that cast on his leg. Now he had slumped down in his chair, staring at the floor.

“Probably,” Erik replied. “I don’t know. It depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you leave me alone and stop asking me questions or not.”

Erik felt a little guilty for the hurt that was quite visible on Peter’s face. “Sorry, man,” Peter mumbled. “I’ll leave you to your coffee.” He shuffled on the chair, trying to get his leg off of one whilst also trying to get up from the other, and Erik sighed.

“Sit down, kid,” he said. “You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

Peter looked visibly relieved. “Can I ask one more question?” he asked. “And before you say anything, that one doesn’t count.”

Erik smirked. “Fine, go ahead,” he said.

“Why are you awake?”

Erik blinked. “Why do you care?” were the first words out of his mouth. On reflection, he thought he could have done better.

“Uh…I don’t know, man,” Peter said, suddenly fidgeting with the hem of his top. “I get the whole insomniac thing, I suppose? At the moment, at least. Is it bad dreams? Because that’s cool- I mean, it’s not _cool_ as in neat or fun, but _cool_ as in it’s fine, we’re all having them at the moment. Jean has already shattered her lamp in her sleep. I suppose you might do some damage as well. That’s the good thing about my powers, I guess. All I could do is sleepwalk to Canada by accident.”

Erik arched a brow. “Is that why you’re awake?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah, I suppose,” Peter said. “I keep dreaming that it went wrong. Um…yeah, everything goes wrong, and we all die. Not very imaginative in terms of what my brain could come up with, but it’s enough to wake me up. And then I’ve got too much energy right now. I’m not using it up like I normally am. So once I’m awake, it’s hard to go back to sleep.”

Erik nodded. “Try counting sheep,” he said, and Peter gaped at him for a second before a burst of laughter slipped through his lips.

“Nice, very old,” he said. “Are you actually going to drink your coffee?”

“It tastes disgusting,” Erik said with a grimace, even as he took another sip.

“Add some milk?”

“You cannot add milk to coffee after breakfast,” Erik stated. “It’s just wrong.” He shook his head. “Americans.”

“Technically, it’s before breakfast,” Peter pointed out. “Seeing as it’s currently two in the morning.” Erik huffed the barest of laughs, and the two of them fell into silence as Erik sipped his coffee and tried to imagine he was drinking something else.

Eventually Peter yawned, and manoeuvred himself out of his chair. “I’m going to try and get a bit of sleep, maybe,” he said. “See you in the morning.” He paused. “Will I? You’re not going to skip out on the Professor in the middle of the night, are you?”

“What?” Erik asked. “No, I won’t do that. Good night, Peter.”

“Night da-dude,” Peter said. Erik frowned, but even with crutches Peter could move pretty quickly, and he soon disappeared out the doorway.

Erik sighed, and then tipped the rest of the garbage in his mug down the sink. It wasn’t worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Erik just reshape all of Charles' family silver? Yep, he did. The poor guy's quite far gone, even if he doesn't realise it. Yet.
> 
> Funny story about Nescafe instant coffee- I was at a residential thing at a university a couple years ago, when I was still in sixth form at school (senior year in the US, I think?). We were staying up really late every night playing bulldog and cards in the college gardens, and then getting up early and walking half an hour in insane heat (for England, it was like 97 F, or 36 C) to the lab halls. And the lecture rooms there were this really monotone grey and just the right temperature to send you straight to sleep.
> 
> Anyway, it got to the fourth day of this and we had been up very late messing around in the gardens- I ripped a guy's shirt playing bulldog, but he thought it was hilarious- and we all knew we were going to struggle to stay awake for the day. At the break after the first set of lectures, in which we'd had to elbow each other repeatedly to keep us awake, my friend went to the side where there were sachets of Nescafe instant coffee. She just grabbed one, looked at me, and without breaking eye contact opened the sachet and poured the entire contents into her mouth.
> 
> Suffice to say, this became a thing for the remainder of the trip. We worked out that if you ate one sachet of coffee with a couple sachets of sugar, it was enough to get you through the morning, and you didn't feel like something had crawled into your mouth and died there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can’t stay. I know what will happen if I do"
> 
> Erik leaves, but he doesn't disappear. Charles can't help but think that the house feels emptier, even when it is busier than ever.
> 
> In which there are the beginnings of postcards and letters and love.

Charles found himself staring at the emptiness of his room. Without all the little things he had picked up over the years, it seemed a lot larger. He missed his books. He missed his chess set.

The house, at least, did not seem empty. The students had moved back in and were all busy trying to redecorate their rooms. Raven was planning a major mission to Ikea with gusto, and had dragged Hank and Peter into it as well. There was plenty to do, almost too much. And still Charles was sitting in his room, staring at the place where his chess set had once sat.

He caught the familiar facets of a wandering mind approaching, and then there was a knock at his door. _Come in, Erik_ , he thought.

“You could just say so,” Erik said quietly, slipping inside and shutting the door behind him. “Out loud.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” Charles asked. “Did you want something?”

“Not quite,” Erik said, a faint smile on his lips. He seemed to suck in a breath before speaking again.

“I’m leaving, Charles.”

Charles blinked. “You don’t have to,” he said slowly, trying to process the sudden disappointment and sadness that had pooled in his gut. “Erik, no matter what you might think in your darker moments, there is a place here for you.”

Erik huffed the barest of laughs. “You’ve made that clear,” he said. “But I can’t stay. I know what will happen if I do, and I don’t know if I can survive that right now.” His gaze met Charles’ steadily. “Old friend, I owe you more than I could ever give. Besides, Hank doesn’t trust me at all, and I know many others are still far too wary. Some space might be a good thing.”

“You could teach,” Charles said, wheeling closer to him. “Languages, or history, or even politics if you really wanted to. We could always use more teachers. The others would get to know you properly, like I do, and then there would be no problem.”

“My mind is made up, Charles,” Erik said with a smile. “And last I checked, I’m still a fugitive.”

Charles waved a hand. “That will sort itself out,” he said confidently. He paused, looking up at Erik, who was leaning against the wall. He already looked dressed to go. “You could have a home here, you know.”

“I know,” Erik replied softly. “I’m not walking away forever, Charles. I don’t think I could do that. I just need to…I need to work out who I am. And I need to do that away from here, before I can even think about a life here.”

“Where will you go?” Charles asked softly. Erik shrugged.

“I’ll go back to their graves first,” he said. “I never did say goodbye properly. After that… who knows? I’ll travel, I think. I still have a few safehouses across Europe, and plenty of money to accompany them. I’d like to actually see the world. Maybe I’ll go to Japan and then work my way west.” He shrugged again. “Stay out of the way of trouble, for once.”

“Promise me that you’ll send word every so often?” Charles asked.

Erik nodded. “If I can,” he said.

“No, promise me,” Charles said sternly. “I’m not going to sit here worrying because you’ve disappeared off the face of the Earth, and I have no idea if you’re even alive. Just…let me know where you are, sometimes.” Erik nodded, and Charles managed a smile. “Well, I wish you luck,” he said. “But first,” he added. “Come with me to the basement. I want to show you something.”

 

* * *

 

 

It would be wrong to say that the house felt emptier with Erik gone; after all, he had skulked in the shadows for most of the time he was actually in it, but Charles couldn’t help feeling something was missing. Part of him knew what it was, but outright denial worked even on himself, and he ignored it.

The school continued as normal. Most of the students were aware of the X-Men, in some way or another, and Charles was impressed with their dedication to the training. It was mostly down to Raven’s skills and teaching methods; other than occasional advice, he didn’t do much to train them. He could hardly fight, after all.

The ‘mutant problem’, as some senators so liked to describe it, was still very prominent in the news, along with the rebuilding of the areas destroyed by En Sabah Nur. Charles slipped into the argument easily enough, devoting little bits of his time to writing pieces for newspapers, occasionally travelling to conferences. Every time he went to one, though, he was reminded of the debates he and Erik had had, all those years ago over a chess set or in front of a roaring fire.

Erik, as Charles had asked, sent the occasional postcard. There was one from Finland, with nothing more than Charles’ name written on the back in familiar handwriting. A newspaper clipping arrived in an envelope from Mumbai, of an article about a train that had nearly come off its tracks when the brakes failed, only to miraculously stay on the tracks at the last second. The article said it was thanks to an abnormality in the tracks that provided a change in momentum, just enough to keep the train upright. Two weeks later, another postcard arrived, this time from New Delhi. There was never a return address, never much more than a few words reassuring Charles that he was alive and well and still travelling.

Four months after Erik had left, someone walked up to the gates of the school and rang the bell. Most of the teachers were gathered in the staffroom and Hank, who was closest, leant over to answer.

“I would like to speak with Charles Xavier,” came a voice crackling over the intercom, a strong South African accent just discernable amongst the crackle. “About a place at his school for my daughter.”

“Uh… do you have an appointment?” Hank asked, glancing over at Charles. Raven nudged him, and Charles’ gaze became distant, scanning the minds standing outside the gate.

“No, but we have nowhere else to go,” came the reply, and everyone in the room seemed to turn to Charles.

He nodded. “Let her in,” he said. “I’ll meet her at the drive.”

Hank followed him out to see a woman walking up the drive, a young girl holding her hand. The girl couldn’t be older than ten, and upon seeing Charles and Hank, shrunk back and tried to hide behind her mother’s legs.

“My name is Charles Xavier,” Charles said, holding his hand out to her. “This is one of our teachers and my friend, Hank McCoy. How can we help?”

The woman breathed a sigh of relief, brushing dark braids out of her face. “He told us that you’d let us in,” she said. “But still I didn’t quite believe it until now. I’m Amahle Seko, and this is my daughter Lesedi. This is a school for… _isipho_?”

“Mutants, yes,” Charles answered. “But why have you come all the way from South Africa to us?”

“We weren’t safe,” Amahle said, wrapping an arm around her daughter and pulling her close. “My husband nearly killed me when she first showed her gifts. We got out, but only just.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Hank said, looking concerned. “How did you get here then?”

“A man found us,” she said. “We were on the streets, and someone was harassing us. He scared them away, and then tried to show Lesedi how to control her powers so she wouldn’t be noticed. When that didn’t really work, he got us passports and plane tickets, and told us to come here. He said that we’d be safe here.” A question hung at the end of her sentence.

“Of course you will,” Charles said. He quickly turned his attention back to the house, asking Raven to come outside. “If Lesedi wants to have a look around the house with my sister Raven, we can discuss this further inside?”

Amahle nodded, and then looked up and saw Raven. Her mouth dropped open. Lesedi just stared as Raven walked over and crouched down opposite her. “Hello, little one,” she said. “Would you like to come and have a look around with me?”

Raven offered a bright blue hand, but waited until Lesedi took it, a look of wonder on her face as she felt the soft scales on her skin, before standing back up. They walked off towards the house together, Charles, Hank and Amahle following more slowly. Charles began to fall into his usual speech about the school, but Amahle quickly held up a hand.

“I know it all already,” she explained. “I took some convincing, to fly all the way over here, but he explained everything.”

“Who was this man?” Hank asked. “Did he give you a name?”

“He called himself Max,” Amahle answered. “But I’m no fool, and I know that wasn’t his real name. He gave me this to give to Charles Xavier when I arrived.” She pulled an envelope from her bag, and handed it over.

Charles let Hank push his chair up towards the house as he opened up the letter, heart thumping dangerously in his chest as he recognised the scrawl across the page. _Charles_ , it began simply. At the bottom, it was merely signed: _From your old friend._

“It’s Erik,” Charles said up to Hank. He tucked the letter away in his jacket pocket; he’d read it later. “He wrote this.” He looked over at Amahle. “His real name is Erik,” he told her. “We’re old friends. I assume he told you what my mutation is?” At her nod, he continued. “Would you mind if I had a look at your memories of the events?” he asked. “I want to make sure that I am definitely right.”

“Go ahead,” Amahle said, though there was a little nervousness in his voice. Charles flicked through the memories on the surface of her mind quickly, and nodded. “It was Erik,” he said to Hank. “He looks well.”

“I’m so glad,” Hank muttered. “Ms Seko, did he accompany you here?”

“No, he remained behind in Johannesburg,” Amahle replied.

“We can discuss this later,” Charles said firmly. “For now, there is the matter of your daughter. Be assured that we will do everything we can to ensure she can have a place here, or if that is not possible, we will make sure that both of you are safe and she learns how to control her power. Her mutation is water-based, am I correct?”

“She can make shapes out of water, and turn them into ice as well,” Amahle said. “I thought she had been blessed. My husband did not have the same opinions.”

They entered the house, and Charles led the way to his office. “Have a seat,” he said. “Let’s see how we can help you.”

 

* * *

 

“So Erik is in South Africa.”

Charles looked around as Raven came in through the door to his study, and he quickly folded Erik’s letter shut. “He was a few days ago,” he replied. “I daresay he’s moved on by now.”

“Aren’t you glad to hear from him?” Raven asked, nodding at the letter in Charles’ hand. “I can recognise his handwriting as well, you know, and your reflexes are not nearly good enough.”

“Of course,” Charles murmured, looking down at the letter in his hands. “He’s doing well, apparently. He says he’s going to travel north, maybe through the savannahs to see some of the wildlife.” Charles suspected that Erik was rather forcing himself to do that, as it was something normal people sometimes did. From what he could make out in the letter, Erik was trying hard to just be a normal person and avoid trouble.

“And his family?” Raven asked. “His wife and daughter, I mean. How’s he coping with that?” Charles arched a brow. “Jean told me what really happened,” Raven clarified. “Not the garbage that was on the news.”

“Why would she do that?” Charles asked. “It’s not hers to tell.”

“Because I was having a real hard time trying to understand why a man I once knew and worked beside decided to throw his lot in with a mutant who nearly destroyed the world,” Raven snapped back. “And why you were so calm about it when he decided to show his face around here, after all that he had done. So yeah, Jean told me what happened to them. It helped.”

Charles let out a breath. “The world has done horrible things to him, Raven,” he said softly. “He’s made bad decisions, but then so have all of us.”

“Most of us haven’t killed quite so many people,” Raven pointed out. Charles levelled her with a look.

“Most of us were not tortured in a concentration camp,” he replied evenly. “Most of us have not gone through a fraction of what he has. And after all that, he’s still trying to be a good person, I think. I don’t think those two who arrived today will be the only ones he sends to us.” He sighed softly. “If he can find some quiet through what he’s doing now, then I’ll be happy.”

“You won’t really be happy until he shows up here again,” Raven said. She scoffed. “ _Men_. You’re impossible sometimes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charles said evenly, even though he could feel his heart traitorously thumping behind his ribcage.

“You’re still my brother, Charles,” Raven said, rolling her eyes. “I know when you’ve got a crush.”

“Raven!” Charles exclaimed. “It’s not- he’s not…Erik and I…”

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” Raven said with a grin. “But honestly Charles? You can’t deny it.”

“We have a long history, Raven,” Charles said, wrestling to get his voice back under control. “A long, complicated history that has hurt us both. That doesn’t mean we’re-”

“Not necessarily,” Raven replied cheerfully. “But it does here.” Her voice softened, and she smiled down at Charles. “If Erik comes back, and if he’s given up his homicidal tendencies, well… I could find it within myself to be okay with it all. I’d be happy for you, Charles, if you’re happy.”

“If he comes back,” Charles said miserably. He turned Erik’s letter over in his hands, and Raven threw her hands up in the air.

“You’re hopeless,” she said. “Of course he’s coming back. And when he does, I fully expect you to grab him and-”

“Raven!” Charles exclaimed, all but throwing himself mentally away from her mind, which had come up with many suggestions of what he could do and flung them at him. “Will you stop bothering me?”

“Fine,” Raven said. “I’ve got to go and train the X-Men anyway. Chin up,” she said over her shoulder as she paused in the doorway. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> isipho- 'gifted' in Xhosa, one of the languages spoken in South Africa. It's a very rough translation thanks to Google translate, so apologies if it's wrong.
> 
> I feel like I could make some witty literary reference to the situation- mainly, Charles waiting at home definitely not pining over Erik, and keeping every postcard and letter Erik sends back. But I'm not smart enough for that, so if you come up with anything, feel free to shout it at me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The postcards turn into letters.  
> Charles still keeps every one of them.

Six weeks later, another postcard arrived from Belize. _I saw a mother beating her child for using her powers to grow a flower out of the ground,_ it read. _I think she was more scared of other people seeing it, than of her child. I understand why she’s scared. I loved Nina with all my heart, but I was always so terrified of what would happen if people found out about her powers._

There was one from Panama, two weeks after that. _Tell Peter that I’ve found the best coffee in the world,_ Erik had written. _The country is a mess at the moment, as I’m sure you’ve seen in the news. It’s dangerous, but I’m staying out of the way of the guerrilla factions. The jungles are incredible._

There were no postcards or letter for a while after that, and Charles tried not to worry about it. He had plenty that he could distract himself with: the school was growing bigger, the tide slowly beginning to turn in the arguments over mutants. The X-Men gained traction, and started heading out to assist where needed.

In early December, the school was quiet. Hank had taken the jet and most of the X-Men to help combat famine in Ethiopia. With most of the teachers gone, Charles set independent work for most of the classes, and when he was not teaching or doing things for the school, he chipped away at the draft of his most recent thesis.

The X-Men returned three weeks later, exhausted and drained. Scott had to all but carry Jean off the jet, and when her control frayed and she projected into Charles’ mind the pain and grief that had seeped from so many minds, he understood, and didn’t say anything about her crushing her wardrobe in her sleep.

With a week to go until Christmas, Charles recruited all the students remaining for the holidays to help decorate the mansion, including a ten-foot tree that was pride of place in the front hallway. Many had gone home to families, but Christmas was a happy affair anyway; Jean, Kurt and Jubilee had attempted to cook, with Hank probably actually doing most of the cooking. Scott had been forbidden from the kitchen after nearly destroying the potatoes, and was relegated to watching the fires in the sitting room and dining room. Peter, long since free of the cast, spent the day going back and forth between his mom’s house and the dining room of the mansion, trying to decide who had cooked the best roast potatoes.

Two days later, a package arrived in the post. The postmark said that it had come from England, and when ripped open, there were various presents neatly packed in it, including Panamanian coffee with Peter’s name on a post-it. Raven dug into it, and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you, Charles,” she said, already eyeing up the various packets of sweets that had been revealed.

Charles opened the envelope, and pulled out a small photo. He turned it over, and his breath caught in his throat.

Erik was standing in front of a very familiar building. He was grinning at the camera, hands tucked into the pockets of a long coat. There was a scarf draped around his neck, and dustings of snow on the ground around him. Charles could just make out the plaque that he knew read _Pembroke College_ behind his shoulder.

Charles turned the photo over, to see Erik’s familiar scrawl. _Your university is older than the Aztec Empire_ , it read. _No wonder you dress like an old man. Decent pubs, though the beer isn’t German. I hope you like the gifts. I would have gotten you a better wheelchair- the last one I made was a bit rushed- but that’s quite hard to carry around with me whilst travelling, let alone post to you. You’ll have to make do with the hat I found in Peru, for now._ _Fröhe Weihnachten, Charles._

Charles had to blink a few times before he could see properly again. When he looked up, Jean was pulling the last things from the box. She handed Charles a soft package wrapped in brown paper, with his name on it. Charles ripped it open, and then a startled laugh slipped from his lips. Everyone looked over at him, questions already forming. In response, Charles just held up the hat.

Raven bursts out laughing at the sight of it, as did most of the students when Charles pulls it onto his head, tugging at the bobbles so the flaps cover his ears. “I think it’s rather fetching, actually,” he declared, which sends everyone into new peals of laughter.

“It seems Erik has rediscovered his sense of humour,” Raven said with a grin. “No, don’t take it off, Charles. It suits you. Now, is anyone going to claim those sweets, or are they up for grabs?”

 

* * *

 

 

The new year came, and with it the school term started up again. A teenage boy from Portugal turned up on the doorstep one morning in January, angry defiance written all over his face and a letter from Erik grasped in his hand. He only stayed for a month before leaving, but he no longer blew out the window in his room at night, so Charles was happy enough. The fountain out on the front lawn froze, and one morning Charles came outside to find Lesedi frowning at it. By lunchtime there were ice sculptures everywhere around the fountain of various animals. About half of them were very detailed spiders, which made Scott shudder every time he had to walk past them. It wasn’t long before they started to appear in the house.

Peter had come back to the school, after spending most of the holidays with his mom. Charles was trying to gently push him towards getting various qualifications, maybe even a degree, but for now Peter seemed happy to train with the X-Men and do a little bit of supervising of the students. It came as no surprise to anyone that the kids adored him. Charles was their teacher and professor. Peter was the cool uncle who snuck them cookies in the middle of the night.

The snow was beginning to melt on the lawn when Charles woke up one morning to find an unfamiliar mind sitting in his infirmary. _Hank?_ he asked, reaching out to him. _What’s going on?_

_He turned up this morning,_ Hank replied with the distraction of someone who was trying to focus on something else. _He won’t say anything. I’m just trying to make sure he’s healthy, but even that’s difficult. He isn’t keen on me getting close._

Charles grimaced. _How did he get here?_ he asked.

_I don’t know_ , Hank replied, sounding frustrated. _Scott and Jean found him walking down the road when they went out this morning._ He sent Charles an image of what he was seeing, and Charles’ frown deepened when he saw the child. He guessed that he was about seventeen, but he looked thin, and was shrinking back on himself as he sat on the bed.

_Give me a few minutes, and I’ll come straight down_ , he said. Getting dressed was not a quick process for him, even with the various things Hank had rigged up to help him around the bedroom, but he threw on some clothes and got down to the infirmary as quickly as he could.

As soon as the doors opened Charles saw the boy stiffen and flinch. “Hello,” he said soothingly. “My name is Charles Xavier, and I’m the headmaster of this school. What’s your name?”

In response, the boy just shoved something at him. Hank started, before he realised that the boy was just holding out a dirty envelope, crumpled from being stuffed in the pocket of his tattered jeans. Charles gently reached out and took it.

_Charles_ , it began. _Can you look after Jacobi? I managed to get him to the US and leant on some old contacts to get him to you, but they’re still looking for me and it’s too dangerous for me to try and fly into the country right now. He travelled with me for a week or two in Israel, but I didn’t really know how to help beyond softening the blow of his powers when he gets scared- he can influence electric fields. He wants to learn, Charles, that much I can tell. Help him, please._

Charles looked up from the letter. “Jacobi?” he asked gently. “Erik sent you here?”

The kid- Jacobi- nodded. There was a battered suitcase sitting on the floor at the end of the bed that Charles only just noticed. Hank reached for it to shift it out the way so he could push a cart over to the edge of the bed. The next thing anyone knew, there was a bang and then a slight fizzling sound. The lights blinked out.

Charles looked at Jacobi, stunned, as the backup generator kicked in and the lights came back on. Jacobi actually flinched. “Apologies,” Hank said quickly. “I should have asked if I could touch your case first. That’s a fascinating mutation, though. Can you manipulate conventional magnetic fields as well, or is it just what we think of as electricity? Technically the two are one and the same, but there are some distinctions that might put limits on your power.”

“Hank,” Charles said. “Maybe not now.” He turned to Jacobi. “Erik told you who I am, did he?” he asked.

“He said you had too much hope to be good for you,” Jacobi said, his voice rough, with a strong accent falling from his lips. “But he said I am safe with you. You can teach me.”

“I can,” Charles said. “And I will. We’re all mutants here, just like you.” He didn’t need to read Jacobi’s mind to know that he hadn’t had the easiest of lives so far. He studied Jacobi for a moment; saw him trying to watch everything around the room, the bright lights above their heads flickering slightly. “Would you like to come outside with me?” he asked. “And I’ll tell you about this school.”

Jacobi hesitated, and then nodded. He picked up his suitcase and stood from the bed. Hank frowned disapprovingly, obviously wanting to ensure the boy was healthy before letting him go anywhere, but Charles just shook his head.

“Hank, could you inform the others that we have a new student?” he asked. “And see to getting him a room.” He left the room, Jacobi following close behind him. Charles found a smile curling his lips as they headed outside and Jacobi began to relax, his shoulders slowly lowering from around his ears.

Jacobi almost stuttered to a stop when he saw the cars parked outside on the gravel, and he glanced at Charles before hesitantly walking over to them. When he realised Charles wasn’t going to stop him from looking, he circled around the cars, a smile slowly coming across his face.

“Do you like cars?” Charles asked. Jacobi looked up from admiring them, and nodded quickly.

“I want to be… מהנדס,” he said. Charles skimmed his mind quickly.

“An engineer,” he translated. He smiled at the boy. “Well, we can certainly help with that.”

 

* * *

 

Jacobi stayed at the mansion, and after a few weeks they didn’t lose all power whenever someone startled him. Charles wished that Erik had left a way to write back to him, to let him know how much they’d achieved. All that Jacobi knew was that Erik was travelling on to Jerusalem when he had found him in Haifa, and they had gotten to Tel-Aviv when he decided to go to America and this Charles Xavier that Erik spoke of so often. Erik had gotten him a plane ticket, and sent instructions to an old contact that would get him from the airport to the school, and that was the last time Jacobi had seen him.

Life continued on as normal. Things occasionally blew up; the tension between Jean and Scott grew until there was an active betting pool on when they’d finally get together, and what damage would be done. Charles knew that Peter didn’t think he knew about it, but honestly, he was a telepath. Of course he knew.

The final dregs of winter gave away to spring, which gave way to summer. With the beginning of June arrived another letter from Erik, this time from Germany. It was tinged with an old melancholy and nostalgia, Erik beginning many times to reminisce in the letter before cutting himself off and changing to a different topic. It was remarkably different from the postcards Charles had received at the beginning, almost a year ago. He still had them; he still had everything Erik had sent him, kept in a box in his room.

Exams finally finished, much to the joy of the students, and the summer holidays arrived. Raven left the week after most of the students went home to travel for a few weeks. Charles didn’t mind; he knew she’d been chafing at the restrictions the school imposed, but he also knew that she intended to come back after only a few weeks.

In her absence Hank threw himself into his work, studying for the PhD that Charles was encouraging him to pursue. The students talked; of course they did, all that sustained them sometimes was gossip. It always rose up whenever another letter arrived from Erik, which they always found out about, even when Charles picked up the post himself.

_I’ve never been in the Alps before,_ one letter read. _I walked part of the Haute Route from Zinal to Zermatt, and then climbed up to the base of the Matterhorn. As I’m writing this I’m sitting outside the Hörnlihütte, and the view is incredible. I can feel the hum of the metal bolts stretching up the mountain, even the cross on the summit. It’s the point of the Italian-Swiss border on the mountain. I’m tempted to move it a few metres, just to piss off the Italians._

There were more postcards and letters over the summer. Erik seemed to have found a place to settle for the moment and remained around the Alps, walking the routes and working in the various hostels around the area. Charles placed every letter and postcard into the box in his room, and every time he persuaded himself from getting Hank to fly the jet out to Switzerland.

The world went on. It was as simple as that: the days passed. Some of them stretched out seemingly for eternity, and Charles found himself wishing for his old chess set. But even if he had it back, he had nobody he could play against.

That wasn’t quite true; there were plenty of people in the house, and some of them surely enjoyed chess, if not as much as he did. But there was nobody he wanted to play with; he would just be disappointed if it was anyone else, and then feel guilty for feeling such a way. So he stayed away from chess, not even buying himself a new set. It was petty, and stupid, but after everything he felt he was entitled to a little stupidity when it wouldn’t set the world ablaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Erik send them all presents in an attempt to get back into everyone's 'good books'? Of course he did.  
> There's one more short chapter to go, and then that's the end of this story. There will be a sequel, when I have time to finally write it- I'm insanely busy with university at the moment!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik finally comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the epilogue of the final chapter- there is a sequel to this, and possibly more after that, but I literally have no free time at the moment to write, so it might take a little while!

_Charles, we’re taking the jet to India._

Charles blinked, and set down the book he’d been reading. _Any reason?_ he asked Hank back, already flitting through and checking on the various other minds around the house. Most were still asleep; it was early enough in the morning for students not to be out of bed yet, and Charles had relented and moved around early Monday classes in the few weeks before Christmas.

 _There’s been a massive chemical leak in the capital of the Madhya Pradesh region_ , Hank thought, accompanied with images of the various news outlets he was looking at and the broadcasts he was listening to, down in one of the rooms below the house. _It could be mutant activity- there’s been unrest across India recently. Even if it’s not, reports are indicating that it’s really bad, and all the medical facilities are overwhelmed._

The X-Men left that afternoon, flying out to Bhopal. “We’ll be back before Christmas,” Raven said, already wearing her suit, her skin a bright blue. “Make sure you buy a tree before all the good ones are gone. Jacobi probably wants a menorah, but he won’t say anything about it to you of his own accord, so you’ll have to ask him about it. Oh, and-”

“Raven!” Charles said with a soft laugh. “I am the headmaster here. I do know what I’m doing. Go get on the jet. I’ll make sure everything is still in working order when you get back.”

He watched them disappear into the distance. Pretty much all of the students had come out of their classes to watch them leave, and Charles allowed them to stay for a few moments, before chivvying them back to lessons. School continued, even when there were people dying on the other side of the world.

There was a lot to do at the school, in the run up to the holidays. Charles barely noticed three weeks had gone by when Hank called, and said they would be coming back in two days. Two days later, he was so distracted by trying to write a particularly difficult chapter of his thesis late in the evening that he didn’t realise they were arriving until he felt a familiar mind brush his.

 _We’re just coming in to land,_ Raven said into his head. _Come and meet us. There’s a little surprise waiting for you, so no peeking!_

Charles rolled his eyes, and made his way down to the underground hangar. Most of the students had gone home for the holidays, if they were going home at all, or were already asleep, and the house felt empty and quiet.

He mulled over the problem of his chapter as he wheeled down the hallway and into the underground hangar. He was so focused on it that he didn’t really notice the wide grin that Raven had on her face as she walked down the ramp towards him, the other X-Men following her.

“You’ll like this, Charles,” she said. “Remember the advice I gave you.”

Charles frowned, and looked up at the jet. He reached out with his mind, a habit more than anything else, and a very familiar mind brushed his as someone appeared on the ramp.

“ _Erik_?”

Erik smiled sheepishly. “Hello Charles,” he said, coming down the ramp to stand in front of him. “It’s been a long time.”

Charles was vaguely aware of the others moving past of him towards the door, but his attention was focused on the man in front of him. “Why are you here?” he asked quietly. “What are you doing, Erik?”

Erik, for perhaps the first time Charles had ever seen, looked uncertain. “I haven’t stopped travelling for over a year,” he said. “I was getting tired of it. I tried to settle in the Alps, but… it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be the same.”

“Erik,” Charles said softly. “What do you want?”

Erik huffed a laugh, and his hand tightened around the handle of the suitcase he carried. “Charles,” he said. “Can I stay?”

The hope that Charles had been firmly squashing down rose up and caught fire, curling around his chest. “Of course, Erik” he said. “Of course you can stay.”

_finis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bhopal gas leak did really happen in India in 1984, and thousands of people did die. Check out Wikipedia for more information.  
> Hope everyone enjoyed this! There will be more to come.


End file.
